Day 23: Crystal Ball

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Universe: QuickSilver, maybe?
Rating: PG-13 / TW: None
 

     My name is Eddie. If I had known that being able to see into the future was like trying to solve a globe-sized Saduku puzzle every minute of every day for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t have called the number on that stupid ad.

     I mean, I didn’t think it was serious. Some guy shows up on the TV late at night, telling you that a simple phone call could give you magic powers. I thought it was some Adult Swim-esque two am joke and that I might get a coupon to some fast food place or something. I was shocked when he picked up and started rambling at me about timelines and shit, like he was Doc Brown after one too many drinks. I was seriously ready for him to start telling me about aliens or something.

     I guess I passed his test, because I woke up the next morning with a brain full of… everything. All the possibilities, swimming and throbbing through a massive headache.

     And you know what? It sucks! All of this literal headache and I can’t even tell you anything important. At best, I can predict things shortly before they happen - a few minutes, tops. I think that’s because once someone sets their mind to an action, they usually follow through and there’s this tiny window of time where outside forces won’t derail them.

     That’s why I’m working in fast food. They say I’m the best guy they’ve ever had on drive-through. What they don’t know is while some Karen is hemming and hawing between the extra bacon ballista or chicken ranch salad, I know she’s actually going to order the number 3 with a diet soda. I can’t tell you if she’ll share her fries, too many variables for that.

     Trust me, this future-vision sucks. You don’t want it. But I’ve got to live my life and if I can at least make my job less of a pain, I’m going to do it. I’ve thought about trying to get a job at some fancy restaurant, I’m not half bad looking and maybe the speedy service would help me get good tips. Maybe I’ll be there right before some cute waitress spills her tray on a table full of rich customers and I’ll catch it and she’ll fall in love with me and we’ll get married and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying not to predict when she’ll divorce me for never getting a better job.

     Meh. I’m a romantic, I guess.